But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. "Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. Make no promises on a night where I have burdened you with such awful knowledge. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. “You are late,” she murmured. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell.
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